Take Me Home

Part 15

When morning came, Paris found that his entire body was stiff; his back and arms were especially sore. However, this did not curb the youth’s enthusiasm to go out and meet his newly acquainted friends. He was even so excited that he could hardly eat his breakfast. Then he dashed off without haste.

Outside the fort, he discovered that they were already ahead on the dirt path so Paris had to jog to catch up to them.

“You’ve made it. I thought your master had an errand for you this morning,” Tassos greeted him and he rested his arm around Paris’ shoulder in a friendly manner. Paris did likewise.

“He doesn’t need me for now, so I came here instead,” the Trojan youth grinned cheekily. Suddenly, he poked his friend in the ribs, causing the latter to let out a squeal. Tassos was easily tickled there and Paris wanted to tease him. They ended up racing each other up the slopes.

The harvest was better today and the baskets filled quickly. The boys were already sweating and grunting with efforts, transferring the baskets to the hut so that the slaves there could begin pressing the fruits. As the reaping moved further away, it became more difficult to carry the burden.

Tassos was just swiping the sweat off his forehead when a strong hand landed on his left shoulder. He made a move to turn around, but the hand had already pushed him down forcibly. The boy, losing his footing, fell sideway and crashed onto a patch of grass, bringing the basket down with him. He was lucky not to get hurt at all; only too stunned to pick himself up immediately. Meanwhile, the content in the basket spilled all over the ground. The dark bluish fruits rolled everywhere and some down the slopes.

Paris got angry because there was no reason for anyone to be playing a prank at that moment, especially not when someone could get hurt and the many olives bruised, causing wastages. He rushed to help Tassos instantly.

“Which idiot parents brought …,” Paris stopped abruptly.

Patroclus was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and flanked by two guards. The golden one sneered in contempt, daring Paris to finish his sentence while the other two snorted smugly.

Recognizing Achilles’ cousin, Tassos immediately bowed low in respect. He pulled Paris’ sleeve to do the same thinking that the other did not know who they were facing. However, Tassos became worried when Paris refused to budge.

“So, the brat had been kicked here to work as a field labourer. Now why wouldn’t that surprise me?” Patroclus gave a disparaging smile. The young man looked absolutely pleased with himself that he was ready to burst.

Paris kept silent. It was no use to rebuke Patroclus now as it would not be to his advantage.

“What’s the matter? Achilles made your tongue too sore to speak?” Patroclus insinuated lewdly. The two guards beside him chuckled.

“What do you want Patroclus? I’m sure you’ve not stooped so low as to come all the way here just to gloat.” Paris suspected that Patroclus had come here with an agenda that he did not want to know. From the corner of his eyes, he saw that Tassos stiffened upon hearing that he addressed a member of the royal household so casually.

Patroclus hooked his hands on his hips and threw back his head, laughing aloud as if amused by a child’s innocent words.

“Oh, I am gloating all right and I have every reason to do so. Have you ever wondered why ‘he’ didn’t return to your bedchamber last night?”

Tassos looked as if he had swallowed a bad lemon; his head flitted back and forth between Patroclus and Paris.

“Last night, Achilles reaffirmed his love to me and sought my arms for comfort,” he bragged, getting too impatient to withhold the information any longer.

Paris felt disgusted because this so-called lover to Achilles did not know the meaning of shame for revealing such intimacies in front of others. At the same time, he was also hurt to learn of this, but he hid his feelings. It did not come as a surprise anymore that Achilles was fickle hearted – he already had a wife, a lover that everyone knew of and probably kept countless of passing fancies like Paris. There was nothing Paris could do anyway; he was only a slave here. However, he preferred that Tassos didn’t know the whole truth.

Despite his immature behaviour, Patroclus was smart not to reveal how he had actually gotten his cousin drunk before seducing him. Achilles had woken up the next morning not suspecting anything except the feeling of guilt in him. Utterly sorry for taking advantage of his lover out of lust instead of love, he quickly amended his ‘irresponsible behaviour’. He didn’t feel better afterwards either because now, he thought of Paris sleeping alone in their bed, waiting for him. As for Patroclus, he remained dazed and tingling in post orgasm for hours afterwards. A wide, satisfied grin had become his permanent feature from then on, causing his friends to tease him endlessly.

“I guess Achilles had finally lost interest in you and I see that he had thrown you here,” Patroclus preened arrogantly.

A sharp gasp interrupted the building tension between the jealous lovers. Tassos was beginning to understand what they were talking about. He stared at Paris now and realized who was really standing there. Now, everything made sense – an unusually beautiful youth among the slaves was too uncanny as a coincidence. Everyone heard about the Trojan youth whom Achilles had taken as one of his spoils of war.

“Go away, Patroclus.” Paris didn’t want to explain or defend himself.

“A SLAVE dared to talk back?” Patroclus snapped scornfully. “Haven’t Neoptolemus taught you enough lessons?”

Paris’ face reddened immediately. He was startled when Tassos touched his arm. The younger youth was worried suddenly, thinking that Patroclus had meant that Achilles’ son had beaten him. That was what he received whenever his master was angry. The Trojan youth turned his head away to hide his blush.

“Oh yes, Neoptolemus gave me the explicit details.”

The guards cackled loudly, elbowing each other suggestively. Now, Paris was really ashamed because everyone knew of what had happened that night. Did that meant Achilles heard about it too, and did nothing?

“Let’s go, Tassos,” Paris said and he took the youth’s arm to drag him away. He was feeling sick and didn’t want to stay there one moment longer.

Unfortunately, Patroclus wasn’t about to let Paris go lightly. He had a score to settle. He gestured with his chin for his men to stop the youths. One of them grabbed Tassos and pulled him out of the way, holding him captive. Tassos did not struggle to get free because he was afraid. He had been a slave since he was born and knew what the free men were capable of doing.

“Your arguments are with me, Patroclus. Let Tassos go,” Paris said sternly.

“No, he will be our witness. I didn’t want to be accused later of being unfair.”

“What do you mean?” Paris had a bad feeling in his gut.

“We’ll have a wrestling match – you and me.”

Paris’ jaw dropped. He knew nothing about wrestling and Hector had only taught him some hand to hand combat that was useful only as self defense, never to attack. His elder brother had no cause to believe that Paris would ever need to attack anyone.

Before the Trojan youth even had the chance to prepare himself, Patroclus had already thrown himself on him, tackling him to the ground. They grappled for a while and then Patroclus decided to play dirty. He started pummeling his hated enemy anywhere he could.

Paris tried his best to block the punches, but Patroclus was stronger and faster. After all, he had trained with Achilles since he was fourteen. Blood was trickling from the corners of Paris’ mouth where his lips had split and a huge bruise had formed on his right cheek. Underneath him, he felt the olives getting crushed as he thrashed about.

Anger was a strong emotion and that helped to boost Paris’ confidence to fight back, instead of just defending himself. He was tired of being pushed around by Patroclus and all his bottled up emotions since he was kidnapped was waiting to blow. The conjured image of the two cousins together that night fueled his resentment further.

He had observed once how Hector was able to gain grounds when his assaulter was on top of him. Twisting one leg around Patroclus’ to trap him, Paris gave a hard punch on the young man’s kidney. Achilles’ cousin yelped in pain so Paris took the advantage to roll them over so that now he was sitting on top of his adversary. It was his turn to batter Patroclus with all his might, saving no effort to really hurt the other. Not all punches aimed right because Patroclus was able to block them, but the strikes he managed, he made sure that the young Greek suffered.

At one point, Patroclus managed to push Paris away and he quickly scrambled to his feet. Now they were facing each other like two mad bulls, ready to lock horns and pull each other’s head off. Tassos remained helplessly quiet even though he was worried for Paris while the other two guards were cheering and egging Patroclus.

They wasted no time and grappled one another to the ground again. Dust began to stir in the air, evident of their fierce struggles. Limbs seemed to grow everywhere and no one could be sure which would emerge the victor. While Patroclus was the better fighter, Paris was plain stubborn to back off.

The wrestle came to an abrupt end when Paris made a lucky punch on Patroclus’ nose, breaking it with a sickening crack. The young man screamed out in pain and held his nostril as blood began to stream down and messed the front of his expensive exomis.

Both guards rushed to help Patroclus, pushing Paris away. Meanwhile, Tassos went to his friend and started to check if he was all right. The blue black bruises on his cheek had swelled so much that it covered the lower half his right eye. Luckily the swell on his lower lip was not so bad, but still his face looked as if he was stuffed with cotton.

One of the guards was coming for Paris, wanting to finish him off, but Patroclus stopped him. He was in too much pain and was continuously cursing crudely. He ordered his men to take him back to the palace to seek the physician. Tassos wanted to take Paris to the healer too, but the latter refused. They went instead to a shallow stream not far away to clean away the blood.

“Lord Achilles will be very angry when he sees your face like that, Prince Paris,” Tassos stated with concern. He tore a piece of cloth from his tunic and dipped it in the stream. Then he helped Paris clean his wounds.

“I don’t care. He would probably punish me anyway for hurting Patroclus.”

Paris jerked and hissed whenever the sharp stings hurt him, causing Tassos to apologize constantly.

“You don’t have to apologize Tassos. It is not your fault. And stop calling me prince. I had lost that title the moment I fell into enemies’ hands. I am a slave now just like you,” Paris remarked rather irritably. Deep, throbbing pain seemed to emanate from all over his body so that he couldn’t sit still.

“What will happen to you now? Will we ever see you again?” Tassos still felt awkward now that he was aware that Paris was once a prince of Troy.

“I really don’t know. Please, Tassos. Don’t tell the others what you saw and heard today. I just want to have a normal life again,” Paris pleaded.

Tassos squirmed uneasily, but agreed. From what he had learned just now, he understood that Paris had been leading a miserable life since Achilles acquired him. It didn’t take a genius to make an intelligent guess the manner of suffering a beautiful youth like Paris would receive. Such treatment was common. A younger brother of Tassos’ mother had fallen into the same fate when the armies had attacked their village. As he was fighting alongside the other men to protect their women and children, he could have been executed like the others, but the captain of the army took a fancy on his uncle who was only sixteen at that time. He was shipped back with the captain when the war was over and they had never heard from him since.

Tassos tried to wash away the blood as much as he could. However, the tunic Paris was wearing was completely ruined. The youth wished to return to the palace and Tassos promised to make up an excuse for his absence.

Sore and aching, yet decidedly triumphant, Paris limped back to the palace. He was glad that he had finally proven to Patroclus that he was not as weak as he looked.

Strangely enough, as soon as he entered his bedchamber, Achilles appeared. It was as if the man knew that he was returning.

The guard who had been following Paris had ran to inform Achilles about the fight. He had not gone away immediately though, but stayed a while longer to see if Paris needed immediate assistant. However, when he was sure that Achilles’ lover was capable of defending himself, he left. The prince of Phthia dropped his meeting with some of his captains instantly.

As he was on the way out, he met Patroclus who was whining in pain and holding his bloodied nose. They locked eyes with each other without any exchange of words. There was no need. Then in anger, Patroclus pushed his men aside and walked away keeping his dignity. Achilles shook his head in disbelief and changed his mind to go out to the field looking for Paris. Pride swelled in his bosom even though he was sorry to see Patroclus in so much hurt, but he was glad to discover that Paris was capable of taking care of himself. Yes, Paris had proven himself beyond doubt that he had become a man.


“I saw Patroclus’ nose bleeding just now and I guessed it has something to do with you. So I came rushing here to find out if you’re all right,” Achilles told a half truth. “I will go get the physician for you.” He was turning around to walk out, but Paris called to him.

“I don’t need your healer. I am fine,” Paris grated. He was still angry at Achilles.

Standing face to face, they stared at one another challengingly. Achilles studied his bruised lover for awhile. Then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps the fight had started because Patroclus had run off to gloat about their one night intimacy. This angered Achilles for Patroclus had acted selfishly and immature. However, the worst was that now he could not hide his guilty conscience from Paris any longer.

The blue eyes that was staring transfixed at him, was filled with jealousy and suddenly, Achilles felt that he wanted to kiss Paris for all he was worth. It became clear to him what he must do next.

“You must clean those wounds properly or they will get an infection,” Achilles remarked obviously.

He pulled up a chair and set it next to the window. Then he made Paris sit on it. “Don’t move,” he ordered sternly and left the chamber.

He came back seconds later and went to a cabinet to retrieve a jar of salve he kept in handy. While waiting for the slaves to return with water for the tub, he helped Paris take off his ruined clothes. Strangely, the youth did not argue with him about this, but moved rather lethargically.

Once the tub was filled, he helped Paris in. Achilles took the clean piece of cloth and started cleaning him. When that was done, they moved to the bed where the prince dried his pliant lover, applied salve to the wounds as well as inspecting his injuries properly to make sure there were no broken bones. Satisfied that Paris’ injuries were superficial, he sent him to sleep.

That night, the mighty warrior of Hellene could not find sleep. He was worrying over Paris, a nature quite foreign to him, and at the same time at lost what to do with Patroclus. His heart was torn both ways when he recalled the look in Patroclus’ eyes. He loved his cousin and would give his life to protect him, but he also loved Paris with his whole being. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten drunk that night because then he wouldn’t have to stay here in the dark, carrying the heavy guilt in his heart.

His affectionate gaze seemed to graze over the edge of Paris’ consciousness, pulling him away from the land of dreams.

“Achilles? Is something wrong?” Paris probed; his voice sounded crack and dry. His anger was forgotten now, but the pain still reminded him the event of the day.

“No, my love. I just want to watch over you when you sleep. You look so beautiful.” Which was true. The light from the only oil lamp in the room, softened Paris’ features even more and his light tan seemed to glow on its own. Achilles ran his knuckles lightly over the swollen cheek. “How do you feel now? Still in a lot of pain?”

“Yes, a little, but I can take it,” Paris answered bravely. He didn’t make any efforts to conceal though that he was still suffering when he turned to lay on his back.

A moment of silence sliced between them.

“I’m sorry I hurt Patroclus. I will apologize to him tomorrow and take any punishments that you decree,” Paris spoke first.

“No, you will not be punished. It is Patroclus’ own fault for seeking to satisfy his juvenile ego. You did what you had to do to defend yourself. You had the right. You do not have to apologize to him.” Achilles shifted to sit cross legged beside his young lover.

“Tell me. Had Hector ever instructed you how to wrestle and fight without a weapon?”

“He only taught me a few moves in self defense,” Paris replied. “He was convinced that I would never have the need to attack anyone.” His voice was small now.

“He was too protective over you,” Achilles stated simply. He knew the pattern of an elder sibling’s love and responsibility.

“I am not weak. I am not a girl even if I may look fragile. I just take after my mother’s side. However, everyone was so convinced that I was helpless that it sickens me.” Paris’ voice raised a notch higher and he sounded bitter. His round, blue eyes stared fixedly at Achilles, as if he could draw some kind of power from him and turn him into a warrior.

“You are not weak and you’re not fragile. I had seen you when you climbed the rocks and for what you had done to Patroclus. I had personally trained him since he was fourteen and yet, you were able to put him at his place. I also noticed the strength in your heart and the determination in your will. No, you are a man born with the blessings of a god on good looks and valiant heart.”

Paris was touched by the words and couldn’t help smiling. It was the first time anyone had praised him like that.

“Would you like me to teach you how to wrestle?”

“Yes,” Paris light up. He sat up in a flash, forgetting all the sore in his body.